by Sharon Lee
"Where do you live, then?" the pale-haired pilot demanded.
Yolan clenched her jaw.
"I expect that they had been sleeping in a wayroom," the fox-faced man said. "I also expect the rent on the cot came due today, and that the money they stole from you, pilot, was meant to buy it tonight." He sounded bored.
"Is that true?" the woman asked.
It was Sed Ric who answered. "True," he said, trying to sound as bored as the man. He didn't quite succeed.
There was silence, stretching long. Yolan tensed against the man's hand; froze at his lifted brow.
"What shall you do, if we let you go?" the woman asked quietly.
Yolan looked away. On the Port tonight, she thought dismally, clenching her jaw tight. No place to sleep and nothing to eat, unless the luck smiled. They could always walk a bit further south, slip over the line into the Low Port. There might be something to gain there. But Low Port was dangerous. . .
"Low Port, is it, Clanless?" If anything, the man sounded more bored than previously. He looked at Sed Ric. "Will you sell your lady here to the first bidder, or were you planning to sell yourself and leave her without a partner?"
Sed Ric's jaw tightened. "We don't have to cross the line."
"No? Well, it's your life, free as you are of the restrictions of House and, apparently, honor." He said carelessly, though his grip on Yolan's arm never slackened.
The pilot stirred. "Will you play an honest game?" she demanded, her eyes wide and half-wild in the glow of her torch. "Or are you thieves, and craven?"
"We'll play," Yolan snarled and Sed Ric said, "What's the game?"
"Take the four dex and buy a bed," the pilot said sharply. "Tomorrow dawn show yourselves to Master dea'Cort at Binjali Repair Shop in Mechanic Street, Upper Port. Tell him that Aelliana Caylon thought you might be of use. You tell him, too, to keep four dex out of whatever wages he might care to grant you and put it aside, to repay a debt of honor." She fixed them both with a stern eye. "You're still game?"
Yolan hesitated, looking for the trap; it was Sed Ric who said, "Still game."
"Good." The pilot stepped back, dimming the torch. Her mate released Yolan's arm and likewise went back, clearing the way to the exit hatch.
"That's it?" demanded Sed Ric. "That's the whole game?"
"Something more," the man said, taking the pilot's hand and flicking a quick smile down into her thin face. "Over on Scorn Street there's a grab-a-bite called Varl's. You know it?"
"Yes," said Yolan.
"Go over now and order yourselves a meal—high-quality protein, and solid carbohydrate, mind me! Tell the counter help to add it to Daav's chit."
"But, why?" demanded Yolan, horrified to find herself close to tears. She hadn't cried in—in—Sed Ric's hand came up to grip her shoulder; she bit her lip and blinked.
"Why not?" returned the man, amusement back in the foxy face.
"At least work long enough to pay back what you owe," the woman said. "If you've no delm to look to, how much more closely must you mind your own melant'i?"
Yolan stared at her, torn between a desire to laugh and to fling herself into the thin arms and wail.
In the end, she did neither, merely took Sed Ric's hand and inclined her head gravely.
"Good evening, gentles."
"Good evening," the man returned, and "Take good care," said the woman.
They walked away, scarcely comprehending what had happened, triggered the hatch at the end of the hallway and slipped out into the night.
After a moment, Daav and Aelliana followed.
SHE SHIVERED AS THEY came out into the street and Daav looked at her in concern. "You're cold."
"A little," she admitted, handing him the torch and watching him stow it in his belt pouch. She shivered again. "I left my overshirt on the—Dear gods."
He turned, following the direction of her eyes, seeing the crowd, the clutter of kiosks, the ship-board, the clock—
"The time," she whispered urgently. "Daav, I must go home."
He flicked another look at the clock and did a rapid calculation. "We can make the next ferry. Can you run?"
"Yes!" she answered and they wasted no more words. Hand in hand they crossed the plaza, running quick and pilot smooth, and hurtled down a side street.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Each clan is independent and each delm law within his House. Thus, one goes gently into the House of another clan. One speaks soft and bows low. It is not amiss to bear a gift.
—Excerpted from the
Liaden Code of Proper Conduct
"DAAV, THERE IS not the slightest necessity for you to escort me. I am quite accustomed to riding the ferry."
"Ah," he said, neither perturbed nor persuaded by this argument. He maintained his position at her side, fingers laced in hers, waiting for the gate to slide away and admit them into the Chonselta Ferry.
The holding platform was crowded, nor were all who waited perfectly sober. Daav had detected at least two pickpockets, discreetly working the edge of the crowd. He nudged Aelliana closer to the gate, deliberately adopting the stance of a man prepared to argue right of place with his fists. The crowd shifted, grumbled—and let them by.
Beside him, she shivered. He glanced down, frowning at the thin silk shirt.
"Let me give you my jacket, Aelliana, you're cold." He moved—stopped in something very near awe when she lay a quick hand against his chest, looking up at him with a laugh, her eyes outdazzling the platform's spotlight.
"I'll soon be in the ferry, and warm. My friend, you cannot have considered. To give me escort to Chonselta means four hours gone from a night already far advanced. I shall be perfectly fine."
Behind them, a mutter of conversation, the ugly edge of drunkenness clear to a trained ear.
"My company wearies you?" he asked, meaning it for a joke. Aelliana-like, however, she chose to hear it as serious and honor him with an answer.
"Your company is—a joy," she said, with her nearly Scout-like frankness. "I—Daav, I—cannot—offer you hospitality of the house. To have you journey so far in my behalf and be constrained to return without even a cup of tea—It shows poorly on the clan, yet I dare not—"
She was beginning to tense, the foggy misery moving into the edges of her eyes. Damn them, he thought, with concise, futile fury. Aelliana shrank back as if she had heard the thought, hand falling from his chest, eyes widening in alarm.
Gods, he must be sliding into idiot ineptitude, that his anger at her clan showed plain enough to frighten her! He conjured a smile, quirked an eyebrow.
"And an ill-mannered fellow I'd look, indeed, rousing the house to do the pretty at this hour of the day! My desire to escort you is utterly selfish, Aelliana—I could not sleep a moment, without knowing you were safe at home." He let the smile widen to a grin. "Indulge me."
Her alarm faded in a sigh that was also a laugh; her fingers tightening, unconsciously, he thought, about his.
"Indeed, I am—glad—of your escort," she said, tipping her head toward the rising discussion behind.
"Then the matter is settled," he said, at which moment the gate slid wide and all his thought went to shielding her from rude jostlings and locating well-placed seats.
"DO YOU THINK they're really clanless?"
Daav retracted the shock webbing and turned in his seat. Aelliana looked up at him from her place against the bulkhead, worry plain in her face.
"Something is certainly—wrong," he said carefully, wishing neither to influence her to a chancy course, now she had time for cooler reflection, nor lose the children her friendship, was she yet disposed to grant it.
"Possibly something is very wrong. Whether they are in fact clanless. . ." He moved his shoulders. "I had been trying to recall. It seems to me that there have not been any casting-outs listed in The Gazette this relumma, and I don't think they can have been on the Port longer—even granting them extraordinary luck."
She sighed, settling her shou
lders against the metal wall. "They're no older than Sinit," she murmured. "And to be without kin on Liad, and no hope of going elsewhere. . ." Her mouth tightened. "Will Jon be angry? I hardly know how I dared, except that Binjali's is so—safe—and I had thought . . . But to put Jon's melant'i at peril—that was ill-done."
"If Jon considers you've put his melant'i at peril, he shall not be shy of explaining the matter to you. In the meanwhile, if they go to him and present you as their patron, he's certain to keep them by until you can explain the matter to him."
"If they go," she repeated. "You think they will not?"
"They may," Daav said gently. "Or they may not. That rides upon their melant'i."
She was silent for a moment, her eyes on his, before reaching out and taking his hand.
"It is the custom," she said, as much perhaps for her own benefit as for his, "to shun the clanless and withhold any aid."
"Merely custom and not law," he returned calmly. "The Code, not the Council."
"Ah," she smiled, very slightly. "Yet another concept to master." She squeezed his fingers. "It was kind in you to feed them."
He returned both her smile and the pressure of her fingers. "Little enough to do—and not the first time Varl has had the feeding of my stray puppies. Scouts, you know. . ."
Aelliana chuckled; raised her free hand to cover a sudden yawn.
"Your pardon," she murmured, and then, more strongly: "Now, tell me what was in that pod, if you please!"
He laughed softly and settled back in his seat. "Why, only a comet."
"A comet!"
He smiled at her disbelief. "You've heard of Losiar's Survey? Not many have—it's ancient history, and Terran history, at that." He shook his head.
"Mr. Losiar, you see, was wealthy, of scientific bent, and quite, quite mad. Over time, he became convinced that the—how did he have it?—that the 'building blocks of the universe' might be discovered in the hearts of comets. Convinced, he acted, and outfitted hundreds of drone ships to go forth and capture all the comets in the galaxy, or near enough, and bring them back for study." He sighed.
"Alas, Mr. Losiar died testing an anti-gravity machine he had invented soon after the last drone left Terran space. His ships full of comets are still found, now and again. Most use them for target practice."
"So there was ice and particles in that pod," Aelliana said slowly, "and when you blew it open—"
"The children found themselves flying through the center of a comet. Disconcerting."
Her laugh turned into a second yawn, and that yawn became a third, belatedly covered with a languid hand.
"I do beg your pardon. I cannot think why I should be so tired."
"After all," Daav said ironically, "you have only been flying since Solcintra dawn, not to mention a Port walk and an engagement with pirates."
She grinned, eyelids heavy. "True. I had—" another yawn interrupted her.
"Sleep, if you like," Daav said, knowing it was scandalous and out-of-Code. Yet why should she struggle to stay awake when she was so tired and there was her co-pilot at hand to guard her?
"I think I shall," said Aelliana, rather muzzily, and without further ado released his hand and settled herself closer into the chair.
SNUG AGAINST THE bulkhead, with himself between her and the aisle, Aelliana slept.
Seen thus, without the great green eyes sparking fire, she seemed astonishingly frail—a mere bundle of bone shrouded in the golden velvet of her skin, carelessly wrapped in rusty black and shabby silk. Daav knew a desire to gather her up and hold her against him, head tucked under his chin, as if she were one of his small nephews. He shook the feeling aside: Aelliana was no child, but a woman grown, and none of Korval, beside.
He wondered anew at her clan, who seemingly placed her value so low it cared nothing if she ate or starved, went clothed or naked.
Not permitted to grant a comrade courtesy of the house, is it? he thought with a recurrence of anger, and sighed. Well, and perhaps her kin misliked Scouts. There were those, in sufficient plenitude, though his darker side noted sardonically that Delm Korval would likely command slavish welcome, whatever hour he might call.
In her sleep, Aelliana stirred, shivered, nestled deeper into the cool plastic seat.
Daav sat up, moving with exquisite care. He slipped off his jacket and tucked it around her, turning the soft leather collar up to shield her face from the eyes of the curious.
Settling back, he thrust his legs out before him and folded his hands over his belt buckle. Eyes half-closed, he reviewed a linked series of exercises, assigning one segment of his mind to keep watch while the most of him dozed.
SHE TRIED TO LEAVE him in Chonselta Port, arguing that there was no call for him to endure a train ride halfway across the city only to be obliged to return immediately to the Port.
"No, but I shan't be returning immediately to Port," Daav said, sliding his coin into the box and requesting two tickets. "Unless you live in the station?" He handed her a ticket.
Aelliana stared up into his face, trying valiantly for a glare. "You are quite stubborn enough!"
He sighed, taking her elbow and guiding her toward the platform. "My cha'leket tells me exactly the same. It's a burdensome nature, I agree, and far too late to correct it. I am on my knees before the gift of your forbearance."
"Yes, very likely. Daav, nothing ill is going to befall me between here and Raingleam Street."
He looked down at her, eyes wide. "A foretelling, dramliza?"
"I am not a wizard! You, however, are entirely ridiculous!"
"Yes, yes, as much as you like," he assured her over the hiss of the train's stopping. "Is this our shuttle?"
She gave it over then with a laugh and marched before him into the compartment.
That was the last laugh he had from her—and very nearly the last word. The closer the train brought them to her clanhouse, the quieter she became, sitting stiffly beside him on the bench, steadfastly staring at nothing.
The train stopped four times to discharge and admit passengers. As it slowed for the fifth time, Aelliana raised her face. Daav bit back a cry of protest: The bright green eyes were shrouded in fog, wary and chill in a face etched with tension.
"Aelliana—"
She raised a hand, forestalling he hardly knew what mad speech.
"This is my stop," she said, and the warmth was at least still in her voice. "I suppose it's useless to ask that you spare yourself a walk and a return alone through an unknown city?"
He smiled for her, keeping his voice light. "I'm a Scout, my friend. Unknown cities are something of a specialty with me."
Her lips quirked a smile. "I suppose they are," she said and stood, moving toward the door.
She made no protest when he took her hand, though the station was hardly crowded. Indeed, her fingers tightened about his as she guided him out to the street.
As urgently as she had cried her need to go home, it seemed that now, with home near to hand, her urgency had deserted her. She led him sedately down thin streets lined with yard-enclosed houses. The further they walked, the smaller the yards became, the more closely the houses crouched, shoulders all but rubbing their neighbors.
Raingleam Street was meager, the public walk crumbling and weed-pocked, the houses brooding over scanty squares of grass held captive by rusting, lance-tipped fences.
"Here." Aelliana stopped before a fence near the top of the way. The grass beyond the lances looked unkempt in the light from the street lamp, a flowering vine softened the brooding facade of the house.
In the puddle of lamplight, Aelliana spun to face him, catching up his other hand in hers.
"Daav—thank you, my friend. For the escort, for the lessons, for—for your care. I cannot—I don't believe I recall when last I spent a pleasanter day."
"Well, as to that," he said gently, feeling her hands trembling in his, "the pleasure has been mutual." He hesitated, glanced over her head to the forbidding house, looked dow
n into a face from which all joy had retreated.
"Aelliana?"
"Yes?"
"I—may I give you my comm number, Aelliana? Call me, if there is need."
She did not laugh, nor ask what need she could possibly have of him, now she was delivered safe back to her kin.
She sighed, seemed to sag—and caught herself, looking up.
"Thank you. You're very kind."
"Not at all." He recited the code for his private line, saw her memorize the digits as she heard them. "There is an answering machine," he told her softly, "if I am not—immediately—to hand."
"Thank you," she said again and stepped back, her hands slipping away with a reluctance he could taste.
"Good lift, pilot," she said from the shadow aside the lamplight. "Have a care, going home."
"Safe docking, Aelliana."
He tarried in the light-splash, watched her cross the walk and open the sagging gate. Her footsteps were light on the flagstones, her figure no more than a thin shadow. The footsteps changed, climbed three wooden stairs; he lost her shape in the larger shadow of the vine.
The porch creaked, a door opened on faintly whining hinges, hesitated, soundless—and shut with a clatter of tumblers falling home.
Abruptly, Daav shivered, though the night was barely cool and his jacket very warm. Almost, he went forward, through the gate and down the path—Some pretext—some bit of piloting lore you forgot 'til now to tell her . . .
"Do be sensible, Daav," he chided himself, voice loud in the still street. He turned his back on his inner urgings, on the gate to Mizel's Clanhouse, and retraced the route to the station, walking with determined speed.
"GOOD MORNING, AELLIANA, how pleasant to have you thus returned to us."
Two steps into the foyer, Aelliana froze, staring into her brother's eyes, recalling all at once the overshirt left behind on The Luck, and her hair, drawn back and caught with the ring Daav had given her. Voni erupted from the parlor to her right—where the large window enjoyed an unimpaired view of the street.
"I saw him!" she squealed. "Great, lank-limbed creature flaunting his leather in a respectable street! A Scout or a grease-ape, brother, and Aelliana with no more shame than to be clutching his filthy hands!"
